


Sanctified and Holy Traitors

by JacobFlood



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Action, Betrayal, Friendship, Gen, Revenge, excessive amounts of original characters, if anybody cares about that, pre-rift
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26509963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacobFlood/pseuds/JacobFlood
Summary: In the midst of a Tyranid invasion, a space marine squad surrenders to their darkest impulses and defects to the traitor legions. Left to die, an inquisitor and one loyal marine must fight for their lives, escape their new hell, and set out across the galaxy on a mad quest for justice, or revenge. Whatever name you give it, the end is always a bloody one.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. mingle with the carnivores

Despite being surrounded by space marines, Inquisitor Kayla Jastremski had never felt more alone. The squad of Novamarines moved in a tight formation through the dense jungle, her in the centre. Heavy in her right hand was a metal case, containing the ancient scrolls that had been the alleged reason for the mission. Making landfall on the planet hadn’t been a problem. Retrieving the scrolls hadn’t been a problem. But making it out was another matter entirely, for swarming across from the other side of the planet, far faster than the commanders in orbit had predicted, was a massive Tyranid army.

Kayla ground her teeth at the bungle. A mass retreat was underway, all Imperial Guard and space marine forces leaving the planet and the system as soon as possible. The Raptor chapter was here to assist in the extraction, she understood, though she hadn’t seen any of them as yet. What should have been a simple in-and-out for her and her backup had now become a desperate race to the nearest teleportation beacon, the previous one now burned down to nothing by the Tyranids’ corrosive explosives.

‘Shame about your henchmen,’ said one of the marines. His name was Daevas, Kayla knew. She’d done her research. He was the newest addition to the squad. He talked too much. Another thing lost in the deluge of acid that came from the maws of those foul beasts had been her own little squad. They numbered just three, but she had picked them all personally on her trips around the galaxy. In time, they could have been honed into a perfect unit. In time, she could have recommended them for promotion to inquisitor.

‘Apprentices,’ she growled at Daevas, aware she was being taunted and yet unable to stop herself. Her black robe had been removed from its usual place to be wound tight around her left forearm. The second time it had snagged on a branch, she had given up on the theatrics of it, though she still wished to hide her form.

‘You seem incapable of showing the Inquisitor the respect she is due,’ said another marine, Ophiel. He was a devout soldier, his armour studded with various icons, and Kayla had multiple times heard him muttering prayers to the Emperor under his breath, even in the short hours they had been together.

‘Quiet, all of you,’ said the sergeant. His name was Jahad, and he usually only spoke to issue orders or criticise his squad. The squad in turn talked back or even ignored the more minor orders, though Kayla had not heard them question his authority outright.

She was keeping her eye on Jahad in particular, though the squad entire had been mentioned in the file that she’d received. The scrolls she carried were of minor value only; their real purpose was a smokescreen. This squad was, through numerous reports, suspected of having Chaos sympathies. The delight they took in their victories, the violent looting, the hoarding of what could only be described as the trappings of excess, marked them out as susceptible to Slaanesh, Lord of Dark Delights. A god of pure hedonism who reached its tendrils into the hearts of even the most supposedly devoted servants of the Emperor. Many legions had been lost in the past, and Kayla was here to put out a spark before it could grow into a raging fire.

‘The bugs are busy with all the guardsmen,’ said Daevas. ‘We’ve got nothing to worry about.’ He looked around through the thick foliage. ‘Though I’d kill for a clear line of sight.’

‘I could do something about that,’ said Trinidius, another marine, hefting his huge flamer, his trigger finger jumping and tapping. Kayla was long-used to assessing the personalities and emotions of space marines without being able to see their faces. She was sure that Trinidius was grinning behind his helmet. She certainly had a growing compendium of evidence that he was dangerously unstable, though some commanders would regard that as an asset.

‘If you wish to burn half the planet down,’ said Ophiel.

Trinidius laughed. ‘Shouldn’t let the bugs have all the fun.’

‘Do bugs have fun?’ asked Daevas. ‘I can’t tell if they’re having fun. Sometimes they gnash their teeth. What do you think, Inquisitor?’

‘I agree with your sergeant,’ said Kayla. ‘You should be quiet.’

‘Is that box heavy, Inquisitor?’ asked Daevas. He moved closer. ‘Do you require assistance, Inquisitor?’

Kayla shunned away from him. ‘I’m under strict instructions not to let the relics out of my hands, once acquired,’ she said.

‘Of course, of course,’ said Daevas.

‘Wouldn’t dream of disobeying your strict instructions,’ said Trinidius. ‘Strict strict strict, always the word.’

This sort of talk was fairly standard for the squad, Kayla had learned. It was evidence, definitely, and she’d surreptitiously recorded the entire squad, bar Jahad and Ophiel, saying something close enough to heretical. But actions were always more damning than words.

She had thought the disaster at the last teleporter beacon would have been enough, but it was circumstantial, her word against theirs. Her word counted for more than theirs did, but she’d learned that the more ammunition you had, the better. The Tyranid attack had come without warning, despite the marines supposedly having sentries watching all angles. When the roof had melted inwards, taking her apprentices with it, Kayla had only just escaped with her life. All the marines had been unscathed. It was entirely too neat.

There were rapid shots from up ahead. Kayla’s gun had been in her hand for what felt like hours. The marines spread wide, coming into a clearing containing a tiny communications centre. Nothing more than a single room with a steel-frame tower atop it, stretching upwards to the beyond. And outside the doorway, a single space marine, of the Raptors chapter, his gun levelled at the newcomers. He grunted, then lowered it.

‘Thought you were more Tyranids,’ he said. Behind him, around him, inside the room, were perhaps a dozen humans in Imperial Guard uniforms. As Kayla and the Novamarines drew closer, she could see that most were heavily injured, and a couple had some other condition, boils and pustules pulsing with dark yellow and pale green. Scattered around the clearing were dozens of Tyranid corpses.

‘Is the beacon working?’ asked Jahad.

‘Sure,’ said the Raptor marine. ‘Ship’s not in position yet. Few minutes.’

The Novamarines spread out in the clearing, Ophiel disappearing around the rear of the building, soon followed by another marine by the name of Bethor. Kayla stepped over the Tyranid bodies and approached the Raptor marine. Jahad came alongside her.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

‘Aiding with the extraction,’ said the Raptor marine. ‘We were at a medical centre. This is what’s left.’ He looked at Kayla, then around at the Novamarines. ‘Am I allowed to ask what you’re doing here? Didn’t know your chapter was in this system.’

‘Our chapter isn’t,’ said Daevas, calling out from further across the clearing. ‘We are.’

The Raptor marine looked at Kayla, as if expecting a further explanation from her. Something about the stillness of his bearing made her want to take a step back, but she held firm.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked.

‘Makhos,’ he said. He turned away then, surveying the area, then treading inside, appearing again with a clean rag. He kneeled by one of the guards and helped them press the rag down over a wound. He looked up at the newcomers. ‘I’m going to ask that the injured go first, when the signal comes.’

Jahad was silent for a moment. ‘This disease is xenos,’ he said. ‘These assets should be liquidated before it can spread further.’

‘If you try to do that, we’re going to have a problem,’ said Makhos. He stood up, very slowly. ‘It’s not contagious. I’ve seen something similar before. It can be treated once we get to the ship.’

‘Familiar with these xenos plagues, are you?’ asked Trinidius, approaching. Kayla could swear he was grinning again.

‘It’s my job to be familiar with xenos,’ said Makhos. ‘Yours too, I would have thought.’

He and Trinidius stared at each other for a few seconds, until they were interrupted by a burst of static coming from inside the building, followed by a crackling voice saying the ship was in position, ready to transmit. Jahad’s voice rang strong out over the clearing.

‘It’s time,’ he said.

The Novamarines stomped towards the building, Tyranid corpses crunching under their feet. Trinidius levelled his flamer at Makhos and Jahad did the same to Kayla with his bolter. A single shot rang out from behind the building. A moment later, Bethor came into view, without Ophiel. Kayla couldn’t help the jolt of satisfaction that ran through her. All of her suspicions confirmed in a single moment.

One by one the Novamarines entered the building and hit the beacon, their forms dissipating from the planet, reconstituted in a moment far above their heads. Trinidius and Jahad were the last to go, the sergeant lingering in the doorway.

‘We knew why you were really with us,’ he said.

‘And now what are you going to do?’ asked Kayla.

‘Take that ship. And then take my fill of the galaxy. The Tyranids will take care of you.’

He turned, and was gone. Makhos make a sound akin to a roar and rushed inside, Kayla just behind. Makhos slammed the beacon, but nothing happened. He hit the line for communications and they were treated to a rush of gunfire and screams. Makhos bellowed down the line.

‘Do you hear me?’

After a moment, the sounds zagging down the line abated. There was a brief silence. Then the voice of Jahad came through.

‘Yes,’ he said.

Makhos’ breathing was heavy, but when he spoke, his voice was clear and calm.

‘You’re all going to die,’ he said.

Jahad cut the link.

‘Damn them,’ said Kayla. She had dropped the box of ancient scrolls somewhere in the confusion and now gestured violently with her free hand. ‘My intel was right, but out of date. They weren’t showing signs of going to Chaos, they were already deep in it.’

Makhos had turned to a nearby guard and said, ‘Can you get us another ship?’

The guard, bandages wrapped around their torso and blood soaking one pant leg, nodded. ‘Don’t know how long it’ll take, though,’ they said.

Makhos nodded and exited the building. Kayla remained, still fuming.

‘There are so many ships up there, no one will notice one heading in a slightly different direction,’ she said. ‘Fuck!’ She kicked at the wall. The guards flinched away from her, and the one who had spoken approached and began broadcasting an emergency signal.

Kayla trod outside and froze. Just for a moment, she thought there was movement among the trees. But now she peered closer, she couldn’t see anything. Makhos came around from the side of the building, dragging the body of Ophiel with him. The Novamarines’ helmet was off, and he had been shot in the eye.

‘Dead?’ asked Kayla.

‘Maybe,’ said Makhos, propping Ophiel against the wall. ‘No exit wound. The bullet’s still in his brain.’ He gestured to the remaining guards, who were looking rather paler than before. ‘You get inside. Anyone who can still shoot in the doorway. Hit the beacon as soon as it’s up.’ The guards obeyed him in silence. Makhos scanned the treeline, then looked at Kayla. ‘You a psyker, Inquisitor?’

Kayla blinked. ‘How did you know that?’

‘What discipline?’

‘Biomancy.’

‘Good. This clearing is surrounded. We’ve got a minute, maybe, before they come in. I need you next to the doorway. Pick the biggest bug and boil its brains.’

Kayla knew she could take command. The Inquisition could always take command. It was a privilege she’d exercised on many occasions before. But Makhos had littered this place with death. Sometimes, experience was all that mattered. She moved where he had indicated, gun in one hand. With her other hand she drew the longsword strapped to her back. While it could cut flesh with ease, its primary function was as a focus for her powers. She could manage without it if she had to, but channelling the energies through the blade made it both quicker and less painful for her.

Makhos trod to a nearby Tyranid corpse and pulled his chainsword from it with a squelch. His head jerked up. ‘Now,’ he said, and as the word was still hanging in the humid air, dozens of Tyranids poured into the clearing.

As the defenders poured bullets in wide arcs, Kayla scanned the alien forces for something worthy of her evil eye. There, in amongst a pack of genestealers, stomped a larger creature, stockier and with more limbs. A broodlord. She levelled her sword at it, focussing her mind against its. The broodlord went down on all its limbs and cried out, a wet sound deep from within. The brood around it turned and headed for Kayla. She narrowed her eyes, exhaled, and seams opened in the broodlord’s head, its brain twisting and bursting. It slumped to the dirt. The brood around it lost cohesion, attacking whatever was nearest.

For some of them, that meant Kayla. For the bulk of the invading force, that meant Makhos. He started up his chainsword and went to meet them.

Kayla had seen space marines fight countless times, on countless worlds. She had seen them succeed in the face of seemingly impossible odds and come back from attacks that should have torn them in two. So at first, she took no particular notice when Makhos cut his way through the Tyranids with ruthless efficiency. That was, after all, what the marines were made for.

She knew she was dealing with a more than ordinary warrior, however, when he turned from decapitating a genestealer and swung around, his bolter cascading bullets over Kayla’s head, tearing through a row of bugs that had been swarming over the roof. Without breaking the movement, he completed the circle, placing more bullets in bodies getting too close to the guards, and again meeting claws with his chainsword. All of it smooth, all of it clean and calculated.

She wondered if he could do this forever. The clearing was thick with gore and Kayla felt her blood pulse in her brain as she used her psychic powers to open wounds in the larger Tyranid warriors that burst from the trees. Their legs collapsed under them, their poison innards leaking into the soil. Many were not dead, merely debilitated or stunned, and there would always be more, but it was enough to buy them time.

Time enough for another ship to move into place far above them, and for the guard to yell that the beacon was working. One by one, the guards teleported into orbit, making way for the most injured to go first. Makhos fell back towards the building, his armour splattered with the insides of Tyranids, still pummelling their foes with bullets.

The last of the guards gone, Kayla moved inside, Makhos in the doorway, dragging Ophiel’s body with him.

‘Go,’ he said, turning to look at her for a moment. He nodded, then said, ‘Your nose is bleeding.’

Kayla wiped it away with her cloak, still wrapped around her arm, and hit the beacon. The world grew hazy around her. Just before it vanished completely, she saw Makhos toss a grenade into the clearing, now packed with Tyranids, before turning to the beacon.

The haze reformed into shapes, the inside of an Imperial troop ship. Medics were already attending to the wounded and diseased guards, though all those on duty stood to attention at the appearance of an inquisitor. She waved a hand and they resumed their duties, though the posture of many was still stiff, their movements shaky. She strode to the nearest senior officer, who saluted her.

All the eyes in the room momentarily moved to the appearance of Makhos and Ophiel. The Raptor marine had managed to get even more gore on his armour in the few seconds he had been out of Kayla’s sight. She turned back to the officer.

‘Take me to whoever’s in command,’ she said.

The officer turned and led her out of the room. Makhos fell in behind her as they trod through dark corridors, their feet clanging on the metal floors. Makhos turned himself sideways to allow another medical team through, then leaned closer to Kayla.

‘You know their names,’ he said.

‘I have their files. I know everything there is to know about them.’

‘You’re going to hunt them.’

Kayla just nodded. Makhos was silent. Another group of guards hurried past them. Kayla unwrapped her cloak and reattached it. In an environment such as this, it added to her power. She waited. The officer leading them looked back frequently, each time revealing the fear spread across his face. Makhos let out a low mutter, something unintelligible. Kayla stopped walking, and Makhos and the guard officer immediately copied her. She faced Makhos.

‘You have something you’re trying to say, marine?’

‘I wish to accompany you, Inquisitor,’ he said. ‘I made a vow to those traitors and I intend to follow through.’

‘They are my responsibility, not yours,’ she said.

‘They left those guards to die,’ said Makhos. ‘They had a duty to protect and they failed. I wish to remind them of it.’

Kayla looked at the guard officer, who made an incoherent noise and backed away several paces. She stared into the expressionless eyeholes of Makhos’ helmet. She knew that sending out her psychic hand for a rummage through his brain would be of little use. But something must have gotten through, for he pulled off his helmet, revealing a pale face with narrow features and dark hair cropped near vanishing point.

There was no irony in his expression. No insolence, either, though she was sure that were she to deny his request, he would find another way to follow through on his threat to Jahad and the rest of the traitor squad. Even if he had to scour the galaxy alone, he would find a way. She stared into his dark eyes, then nodded. He returned the gesture and replaced his helmet.

Kayla gestured to the guard officer, and they continued on through the corridors of the ship. Someone must have sent word ahead, for the captain was ready to receive them in the wide hall outside the bridge. She was a short, stocky woman with dark frizzy hair and she gave them a short bow and said her name was Tertullus. She showed no surprise at seeing her visitors still dripping with the remnants of battle.

‘What assistance can we provide, Inquisitor?’ she asked.

‘A squadron of Novamarines have turned to the traitor legions,’ said Kayla. ‘They have taken over the ship that was meant to extract them, and us.’

‘What was the ship?’ asked Tertullus, snapping her fingers at the guard officer. ‘I’ll have the word sent out.’

‘The _Katakor_ ,’ said Makhos. The senior officer disappeared through the door to the bridge.

‘There are so many ships here for the extraction,’ said Tertullus. ‘It would be easy to slip out of the system.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘We’ve received reports of a Chaos base not far from here. Perregal, I think the name was.’

‘That’s two systems over,’ said Makhos.

‘Yes, but my orders have me heading in the opposite direction,’ said Tertullus. She looked at Kayla, waiting for something to the contrary. Kayla drew a breath.

‘I could commandeer this ship,’ she said.

‘You could,’ said Tertullus.

‘But it is full of wounded evacuees. I wouldn’t send them from one hell to another.’

Tertullus inclined her head slightly. If she felt relief, it didn’t show on her face. ‘I have a small dropship you could use,’ she said. ‘It’s not designed for anything long-haul, but it’d get you to Perregal. It might not get you back.’

‘And you’d be gone anyway,’ said Kayla.

‘Indeed.’ There was silence for a moment, then Tertullus added, ‘But if you wish it, it is yours, Inquisitor.’

Kayla nodded. ‘Thank you, Captain. You have done the Inquisition two favours today. It shall not be forgotten.’

Tertullus’ expression went a fraction colder. She forced a smile and said, ‘The galaxy’s too big to go about counting favours.’

‘Maybe so,’ said Kayla. ‘You have my gratitude, regardless.’

‘And mine,’ added Makhos.

Tertullus summoned the guard officer again and instructed them to guide the pair to their new ship. Another round of nods, and the captain returned to the bridge. Kayla and Makhos were led deeper into the ship, down passages that creaked and groaned at their passage, lights of uncertain meaning flickering overhead, and always more people rushing past on various tasks.

Their ship was called the _Auron_. It could have fit a full squad of space marines, loaded up side by side and ready to be dropped on another planet to dish out death. With just the two of them at the controls, it felt hollow, nothing but an empty room behind them and empty space ahead of them.

‘You could have gotten us more boots,’ said Makhos.

‘I could,’ said Kayla. Her powers of requisition were wide-ranging. ‘Do you want them?’

‘No. We can handle them.’ He paused. ‘You fight well, for an inquisitor.’

Kayla suppressed a smile. ‘I’m choosing not to take that as insubordination.’

‘With some work, you could get it all the way to heresy,’ said Makhos.

As they geared up the ship, Captain Tertullus’ voice came through on the comms. Kayla watched through the cockpit as the way into the darkness was opened up in front of them.

‘All clear,’ said the captain. ‘You’re good to go.’ Her voice sounded more brittle than it had in person. ‘Good luck out there,’ she added.

‘And to you,’ said Kayla. She pulled a lever and sent them into the void.


	2. even if there is no way back home

To conserve fuel and attract less attention, they drifted silently through the system towards their goal on Perregal. Without the roar of the engines, their little dropship _Auron_ was silent but for the occasional click of Kayla flicking a switch or a creak as Makhos shifted his weight. Sometime soon after launch, she’d brought up the file that had been given to her on the Novamarines squad. Now she could hear Makhos murmuring their names under his breath, a mantra, a litany, a curse.

It went like this: Jahad, Trinidius, Amon, Uriel, Jegudiel, Daevas, Ahuras, Bethor.

‘Do you think Ophiel survived?’ asked Kayla.

Makhos paused in his listing of the names of their enemies and thought about this for a while. ‘His implants would have sent him into a coma as soon as the bullet went in. Point-blank range, through the skull—marines have survived worse.’

Kayla shook her head. ‘It’s always hard to believe, no matter how many times you see it.’

Makhos grunted. ‘How long you been doing this?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Kayla, which was true. Somewhere after her tenth year as an inquisitor, she had stopped keeping track, stopped checking the dates, stopped casting her mind back to when she had been anything other than what she was now. ‘Decades,’ she added. ‘Thirty years, forty, I don’t know.’ Even these numbers seemed like reading off a file about someone else. She remembered to reciprocate the question.

‘A hundred and fifty years,’ he said. ‘Or thereabouts.’

Kayla’s gaze flicked over to him. ‘You never got promoted?’

Makhos laughed. ‘Even for the Raptors, I don’t play well with others.’

‘You organised those guardsmen well enough.’

‘Needs must. They would have died otherwise.’

They lapsed into silence again. The hours passed. If the stolen ship had passed this way, it was a long way ahead of them. But with the dropship having all the defence systems of a fresh egg, masquerading as a drifting piece of space junk was the best way to avoid being blown apart before even catching sight of their quarry.

The planet Perregal came into view, at first on their screens, and then outside the cockpit. A grey sphere, thick with dark clouds visible even from such a distance. The _Auron_ ’s instruments showed up nothing in their immediate vicinity, and as they drew into orbit, picked up only minimal activity on the surface. Kayla turned on one engine and coasted them around the planet, watching the clouds form up and break apart beneath them, an endless and everchanging pattern.

‘If there was a base here,’ she said, ‘they’ve moved out.’ She pointed at the cluster of signatures on her screen. ‘That can’t be more than a few lifeforms.’

‘Enough to be who we’re looking for,’ said Makhos.

‘You recognised the name of this place. Have you been here before?’

‘Met a marine who had, years ago. Said it rained the entire time he was planetside, and the storms came through about every other day.’

‘Good place to go unnoticed,’ said Kayla. She tried to find them a spot where the clouds didn’t look too dark, not too far away from the lifeforms they’d spotted. She brought their dropship _Auron_ down into the atmosphere. The walls shuddered around them and their vision was soon obscured by thick cloud in all directions.

Something flickered on the scanners. The Chaos base, it seemed, was not entirely abandoned. A missile screamed through the sky towards them. There was no time to engage full engines, no time to do anything more than bank hard and pray to whatever power was nearest.

Kayla closed her eyes for the moment of impact. She felt the jolt up through her bones. The world lurched diagonally. When she opened her eyes, her screens were blaring at her and Makhos was telling her in a very even tone of voice that the back of the ship was gone. Kayla wrenched the steering again, away from the direction of the base. She powered up everything that still functioned, which wasn’t much, as the ship corkscrewed towards the surface of the planet.

The second impact was worse. Like all her organs were trying to punch their way out of her torso. The massive crunching sound came from every direction. She kept her eyes open, though, saw the ground obliterate all other views, saw the instruments flicker and die, saw Makhos hold tight and make no noise of pain or complaint.

They exited the wreck of the _Auron_ through the hole the missile had made. The clouds were thick above them, but there was no rain. The landscape was grey, rugged, and vast. Huge jagged peaks were visible on every horizon, the true scale impossible to discern. One wide peak loomed very close, however, and it was in the shadow of it that the Chaos base lay waiting.

‘Good landing,’ said Makhos.

‘I suppose you’ll tell me that marines have survived worse,’ said Kayla.

Makhos looked at her. ‘I wasn’t being sarcastic,’ he said. He scanned the skies. ‘If that wasn’t an automated defence, they’ll come to check. We need to move.’

Together they traversed that hard ground, taking long strides from rock to rock, keeping to the low places, the cracks in the surface. Again Kayla could hear Makhos murmuring the names of the traitor marines: Jahad, Trinidius, Amon, Uriel, Jegudiel, Daevas, Ahuras, Bethor.

Kayla expected at any moment to hear a ship shooting above them, or the roar of some vehicle’s engine traversing this rough terrain, coming to investigate the crash. Instead what became audible to the pair was one grumbling voice, a mouth chewing around a long string of curses, making no attempt at keeping quiet. Indeed, the curses echoed off the spires and walls of rock and Kayla could not tell quite where the speaker was approaching from.

Makhos seemed to have no doubts. He led them off to the side, behind a small ridge. Above them, the skies rumbled and twisted. Crouched at the edge of their hiding place, Kayla and Makhos peered out at the figure: a single space marine, stomping in the direction of the crash.

Makhos exhaled. ‘That’s one of them, isn’t it?’

Kayla peered closer. Although the blue and white of the Novamarines had been slathered over with crude splashes of purple and black, the marine’s original chapter was still discernible. She looked at the symbols on his armour, some new and some old, and listened to his wheedling voice.

‘Ahuras,’ she said. ‘He always got the shittiest jobs.’

She turned to Makhos, expecting to concoct some plan. Instead, he was pulling the pin from a frag grenade and hurling it to land just behind Ahuras. At the noise of it hitting the ground, Ahuras turned. Makhos hammered half a dozen bullets into the front of Ahuras’ helmet before the grenade went off.

Kayla moved sideways and gave supporting fire with her own gun, drawing her sword and focussing her psychic energies, as Makhos ran towards their foe. She hadn’t seen him draw or start his chainsword, but there it was in both hands. Ahuras was moving erratically, barely able to see, and by accident dodged the first blow. But the uneven ground sprawled him on his back. Makhos brought the chainsword down in the gap between shoulderpad and neck, driving through a weaker point in the armour, then through flesh, leaving the arm hanging on by just a few thin sinews.

Kayla sent a spasm through the traitor marine’s other arm as he reached for his gun. He cursed and the gun skittered away. Kayla drew closer. Makhos took one step back and drew his gun again, levelled at Ahuras’ head.

‘We can question him,’ said Kayla.

‘Why?’ asked Makhos. He crouched down and wrenched off Ahuras’ helmet, exposing a face barely recognisable as a face, caved in in multiple places and coated with blood. From the hole that had once been a mouth came choked wet laughter.

‘You two,’ came his words, still somehow recognisable as words. ‘Too slow. We’re gone. Sca—scattered.’ The blood caught in his throat and his next words were cut off.

Makhos looked at Kayla. ‘Anything else you want to know?’

Kayla shook her head. They both knew there would have been no point. This was too personal for nuance, for due process, and Ahuras was too close to death and the warp to give an answer. Makhos emptied his clip into Ahuras’ head. When there was nothing left but a thick red stain, he reloaded his gun.

‘The others won’t be that easy,’ he said. ‘Each one will have more warning than the last.’

‘He could have been lying,’ said Kayla.

‘Does it matter?’

Kayla supposed it didn’t. They took what weapons Ahuras had, Kayla hefting his bolter, larger than her one-handed variety, Makhos pocketing yet more grenades. Again they walked across the rocky ground, in the direction that the dead marine had come from. Somewhere on the trek, it started to rain and did not stop, huge drops, thick and warm.

By the time they reached the road, the rain was heavy enough to obscure vision at a distance. The water rushed off the flat of the road, cascading through the rocks in a thousand small rivers, finding old grooves to wander down.

Makhos looked at the ruts in the road. ‘Bikes,’ he said, and kept walking, down the road towards the wide peak that sheltered the Chaos base.

Raising his voice to be heard over the rain, Makhos asked her if she would have tortured Ahuras, if she could have.

‘If I had my tools,’ she said. ‘My people.’ There would have been drugs they could have pumped into the traitor marine, remedial surgery to keep him alive but in pain, restore his jaw to make his speech easier to understand. But all those options had been lost when the marines had let her little squad die.

‘You should tell me about them,’ said Makhos. ‘After this.’

Kayla looked at him with surprise, but his eyes seemed fixed on the way in front of them.

They walked on. The rain streamed down their armour and a chasm opened up on one side of the road. Kayla kicked a loose rock down into the depths and waited, before realising that the pounding of the rain would prevent her from hearing the echo anyway.

Eventually the chasm ended at a spire of rock that marked a bend in the road, a watchtower balanced at the peak. The pair halted, staring up at the tiny platform, watching for movement. Makhos grunted and started walking around the corner, gun drawn.

‘If there was someone up there, we would have been shot at already,’ he said.

‘Maybe the warp makes you stupid,’ said Kayla, joining him as their view became one of a long-abandoned population centre, battered by the planet’s cruel weather and maybe centuries of conflicts. There were very few buildings left with roofs still in place, the walls cracked and exploded, more rubble than structure.

Makhos grunted. ‘Stupid is a universal constant,’ he said. He pointed further down the path. They were in the shadow of the wide peak now, and nestled up right against it was the largest structure, the spaceport. Once, long ago, it would have brought the colonists here to start a new life, to harvest whatever resource the Imperium thought this planet had to offer, or just to expand the size of the Imperial colours on a map. Now it was just waterlogged and grey, and what was left of the spaceport was carved with the symbols of Chaos.

‘Still nobody shooting at us,’ said Kayla. They drew cautiously through the colony, closer and closer to the spaceport.

‘Like I said,’ said Makhos. ‘Stupid. They sent one marine on foot to investigate. We could have been a full squad.’

The wide doors of the spaceport hung open. Fingers on triggers, they walked into that cavernous space. The roof above them once would have once slid open to allow a ship to land and take off. Thanks to the weather or a long-forgotten battle, half of it had collapsed inwards, laying in pieces on the floor. The mechanism of the other half had jammed in the process of opening, and now continually moved in stuttering motions, constantly retracting a few inches before butting up against some obstacle, then returning to a fully closed position.

‘No ship here,’ said Kayla, barely above a whisper. ‘They couldn’t land because of the damage. Whoever’s left must be getting off-world somehow.’

‘The ship’s elsewhere,’ said Makhos. ‘They’ve been loading up with the bikes.’

They moved further inside, making as little noise as possible. Drifting down from higher levels in the spaceport were multiple voices, overlapping and discordant. Makhos pointed out a row of bikes along a nearby wall, loaded with bulging bags and overflowing crates, most of them hooked up to makeshift trailers loaded with yet more military detritus. Makhos strode over to rummage through. Kayla kept an eye on the nearest set of stairs.

‘Huh,’ said Makhos. Kayla turned to see him holding up a sack full of yet more grenades.

‘What kind?’ she asked.

‘Bit of everything,’ he said. Lugging the sack, he joined her watching the stairs. The arguing voices from above still echoed down, the occasional jolt of laughter overriding the others. ‘Come on,’ said Makhos, heading for the rear of the building. ‘There’ll be another stair up. I want to get above them.’

As quietly as they could, they moved through narrow corridors, looking for another way up. The walls and floors and sometimes even the ceiling were stained with red and black and brown and purple. Blood and paint and other fluids of origins less clear. The stairwell, when they found it, was tight enough that Makhos had to carry the sack in front of him, turning tightly so as not to clank it against the wall. Kayla was amazed that, even in his armour and burdened with such a load, he was still able to produce barely any noise as he went.

They kept taking the flights up. Kayla lost count of how many times the words “death to the false emperor” were written or carved into the walls. Eventually the voices were clearly coming from a level beneath them, and they moved delicately back into the main floor of the spaceport, edging forward to find a crack in the floor that offered them a view down. The crack itself was perhaps a foot wide; not enough to drop down from, but plenty enough to make it rain grenades.

Together they peered down the crack to see the traitor marines below, loading up more things into crates and bags, arguing and throwing junk at each other as they went about their task. There were only five of them, Kayla counted. Soon the base would be totally deserted, hollow but for the wounds left by all its various inhabitants.

All the Chaos marines bore the usual purple colour scheme of their god, individualised in the details, but one was more slapdash than the others, the same sort of rushed paintjob they’d seen outside on Ahuras. A new convert. One of their quarry. Kayla fixed her eyes upon that figure, scanning his armour for a symbol or mark she recognised, watching his movements for a tell, something, anything, to make meaning out of. She could feel Makhos’ eyes on her.

She leaned close to him and whispered, ‘Bethor.’

He nodded and moved the sack of grenades so that it was placed between them. He opened the top of the sack wide and plucked out one grenade in each hand, his thumbs ready in the pins. It was a technique Kayla hadn’t seen for a while, but she could mimic it easily enough.

They looked at each other, then released the pins. With swift movements they loaded up with more and more grenades, repeating their movements, until the room below was nothing but smoke and fire and yells and blinding flashes of light.

Then, silence. Kayla and Makhos pulled back from the crack in the floor, expecting bullets to start flying up at them. But there was nothing. Makhos went and peered down into the slowly fading haze.

‘Damn it,’ he said. He shot a dozen bullets into the floor around the crack, then stomped hard. The crack widened into a hole and he jumped down, lost to Kayla’s sight. His voice came up to her: ‘They ran.’

Kayla dropped down the hole, one hand going to the floor to steady her fall, the other holding her gun up ready to shoot. The smoke was thinning and she could see the destruction their hail of explosives had wrought. The room was studded with shrapnel on all sides, the equipment all around damaged beyond immediate use, some of it on fire. One of the Chaos marines lay on the floor, leg bent underneath him at a hideous angle. Kayla waved smoke away from her face and saw that it was not Bethor. Some other traitor who had made the same decision long ago.

Makhos pulled a krak grenade from his belt, that weapon designed to create a controlled explosion, usually wielded against tanks and other heavily armoured vehicles. He jammed it in the gap between the Chaos marine’s helmet and chestplate, pulled the pin, and heaved the marine into the next room. The blast came as Makhos was already running for the main stairs.

The bikes, Kayla remembered. If the traitor marines could get out and escape to their ship, the pursuing pair would be trapped on the planet and denied their vengeance. She sprinted after Makhos, who took each flight of stairs in one leap, slamming into the wall at the bottom and continuing down at a rapid pace. Kayla thought that if there had been a hollow in the middle of the stairwell for him to drop straight down through, he would have simply done that. She followed with the same leaps, landing more carefully than he did, feeling the breath rush out of her with each impact, her descent slower but more considered.

Inevitably, Makhos reached ground level before she did. She heard the yells of the Chaos marines, the roars of engines, the blaring of gunfire, and then an explosion rocked the walls. When Kayla came into the main room, Makhos was getting up off his back. A fire was burning on one side of the room, a fire so bright it hurt Kayla’s eyes to look at it. That meant Makhos have saved himself a plasma grenade and caught the fuel tank of one of the bikes. Out through the wide doors, another bike and its trailer was visible, loaded with two marines, heading rapidly out of the city.

One of the Chaos marines was in pieces, and another was missing his legs, crawling with agonising slowness towards Makhos, incoherent noises of rage coming from beneath his helmet. Makhos paid no attention to him, striding instead to where another bike had been thrown up against the wall by the explosion. Kayla watched for a moment, then drew her sword. It was unlikely to need the extra help, but still she channelled her psychic energies into the blade as she brought it down. It severed the Chaos marine’s head from his body as easily as it had passed through the air.

Makhos was testing the bike’s throttle. It seemed to still be functional. He tore off the bags and crates attached to it, and disconnected the makeshift trailer. In one of them he found a coil of metal cable, about the thickness of one of Kayla’s fingers, which he looped over his shoulder.

‘Bethor and another,’ he said, pointing to the doors. ‘One each. You drive.’

Kayla got into the driver’s seat and Makhos balanced himself in the rear seat, one hand on her shoulder for balance. She squeezed the throttle and roared them out of the spaceport. The ruins went past them in a blur. Their own bike was much lighter than that of their quarry, and there was only one road to take.

Soon the chasm had reappeared beside them. One false twitch of the steering would send them plummeting down into those depths. The other bike was ahead, the distance between the two shrinking rapidly. Kayla felt rather than saw Makhos doing something with the length of cable. He leaned forward and slightly sideways and she saw what was now a noose in his hand.

‘When this gets around his neck, brake,’ he said, very close to her ear.

Kayla nodded and kept the bike steady. The road and the presence behind her and the rain thudding down all ceased to matter. All she focused on was the closing gap, the seconds that remained before she would have to react. Bethor, his armour blackened with scorch marks, was riding in the rear seat and had lost his helmet somewhere, so they could see the fear on his face as he turned to see their approach. He was leaning back, hand reaching to detach the trailer, when Makhos’ noose of cable tightened around his neck.

Several things happened in very short succession. Kayla began to brake hard on her bike. Bethor realised the trap he was in and flailed wildly, one hand going to his neck, the other grabbing onto his fellow marine. This frantic grab could not last, as the change in momentum sent both Makhos and Bethor flying from their respective bikes, back the way they had come. But the distraction was enough for the other Chaos marine to lose control for the slightest of moments, his bike swerving before his renewed grip righted it. But in that moment, his heavy trailer swung to the side, on a certain collision course with Kayla’s bike. She saw in her peripherals the chasm all too close, and jumped for the trailer.

As she clung there, looking back, she could see Makhos disappearing over the edge of the chasm, with Bethor, the noose still around his neck, scrabbling against the wet rock to avoid the same fate. That was all she saw before she was forced to twist in place, as bullets fired blind over the other Chaos marine’s shoulder impacted around her.

The marine was forced to abandon this attack as the road swerved away from the chasm and narrowed, winding through spikes of rock. Even at a regular speed, it would have been difficult to navigate. At the dizzying rush they were travelling, the slightest mistake would send them hurtling into a solid rock wall.

Kayla kept a tight grip on the trailer and edged herself forward, making her slow way towards the front, closing the gap between her and the Chaos marine. One of her psyker abilities gave her the ability to move at phenomenal speed for a short period. At the speed they were already moving, it would only give her a slight edge. If she timed it right, that was all she would need.

She held firm with one free hand and drew her sword with the other. She saw the approach of a sharp corner in the road, marked by a tall wall of rock. She felt the power rush through her and saw time slow. The bike still moved forward, the walls still moved past, but all at the pace of a brisk walk.

It was so easy to leap from the trailer to the wall, pivot about ninety degrees, and launch herself sword-first at the Chaos marine. All her movements smooth and sure. The force of her attack took them both well off the bike and crashing into the rock wall on the other side. Her sword went through the marine and then through the rock, pinning him there, only the hilt visible sticking out of his chest.

The impact broke most of the bones in her right arm and, gasping with the pain and the shock of returning to the normal stream of time, she crumpled and rolled away in case the marine still had any fight left in him.

No attack came her way. She tried to stagger upright but her left hand slipped on the wet rock and set her back to her knees. She coughed a thick clot of blood into a growing pool of water and tried again. This time she made it all the way up, coming level with the Chaos marine.

He was still alive, but only just. Blood dripped down the rock, mixing with the rain to pool at his feet. Kayla pulled off his helmet and tossed it aside, then drew her pistol and shot him half a dozen times in the head. She coughed blood again, splattering it down the marine’s front. Feeling like a vice was tightening around her brain, she focused her energies again and sent them down into her arm, mending the bones and knitting together the torn sinews. The pain and effort of it sent her back down to the ground.

She lay there for a time, the rain hammering on her closed eyelids. She turned her head to the side and vomited brown and red gunk. Every muscle screamed at her, but she rose and took stock of her surroundings. The bike, bereft of its rider, had slammed into the rocks a little further along. It hadn’t exploded, but it was bent almost in two. She sighed and started treading back towards the chasm.

* * *

When he came off the bike, Makhos had no time in which to react. His end of the cable was already wrapped multiple times around his forearm. He felt his momentum slam him across the road and knew what was coming. Then there was no surface in any direction and he was shooting not across but down. He saw the great drop below him and wondered if this was finally the moment where his long aimless crusade across the galaxy had reached its inevitable end.

Then his fall was slowed. He looked up to see Bethor, the noose still around his neck, scrambling at the top of the chasm, his hands struggling for grip on the edge. Makhos grabbed the cable with both hands, planted his feet on the edge of the cliff, and assessed his options. None of them were particularly hopeful.

Close by him was a spike of rock that stuck out from the cliff. It looked stable enough, but either way he was about to find out. Keeping one hand gripped to the cable, with the other he unwound the loose end from his forearm. With one eye on the still-scrambling Bethor, Makhos made another, wider noose, which he tossed the short distance to tighten around the spike of rock. Now if Bethor lost his grip, there was a chance they wouldn’t both go plunging down who knew how far.

But such a drop was not assurance enough for Makhos. Marines had survived falls from immense heights before; he’d heard enough tales of that to be cautious. He moved along the cable, closer to the spike of rock, then drew his gun and peppered Bethor with bullets. The Chaos marine managed to make a gurgling noise before losing his grip.

He fell, limbs waving, and Makhos watched not him but the cable around the spike of rock. As Bethor reached the place where the tension resumed, now in the opposite direction, the cable shuddered, but held. Bethor swung several metres below Makhos, spinning and slamming against the cliff, hands trying and failing to get the noose off his neck. Blood was spilling down Bethor’s armour where the cable had cut deep into his flesh.

Makhos watched the swinging motions for a while, as they slowed and steadied. Then he descended, hand over hand, feet pressed against the cliff wall, almost at a right angle to it. The closer he got, the smaller Bethor’s struggles became. Makhos slid the last distance, one hand on the cable just above Bethor’s head, the other drawing his chainsword, the bodies of the two marines pressed against each other.

Makhos looked into Bethor’s eyes and saw the fury there, the fear, the struggle. Hanging like this forever might not kill him. It would be a hell, but Makhos wasn’t interested in that. He wanted surety. Batting away Bethor’s feeble arms, Makhos started his chainsword.

It took a long time to force the point of it through the armour, to cut through all those layers of metal and flesh and bone and whatever else was inside a space marine. Then the whirring blades hit rock, and kept going. Not until the hilt was butting up against the chestplate did Makhos stop. A familiar vacant stare on Bethor’s face told him what he needed to know.

He drew his knife, a large blade with a blue sheen to it that he’d carried for decades, and started sawing at the cable. Once he was through most of the metal threads, he heard a crack within Bethor’s body. Makhos swung himself away to the side. The chainsword, unable to take the dead marine’s weight, bent and then broke. The last thread of the noose snapped away. Bethor’s body dropped. Makhos watched it until the blurring of the rain hid it from sight. Then he started climbing.

* * *

Kayla and Makhos reunited on the road, raising a hand to each other as they appeared in the distance. They met, soaked through with rain and blood.

‘Yours?’ asked Makhos, gesturing back the way Kayla had come.

‘Dead,’ she said. She gestured in turn at the chasm, finding herself unable to manage any more words.

‘Dead,’ said Makhos.

Kayla exhaled and nodded. She turned and spat into the road. Her mouth still tasted foul and her body pulsed with pain. But there they stood, the only living people left on the planet. None of the bikes remained, so again they trod along the hard surface of the road, heading towards where the Chaos marines had left their ship. In the narrow twisting part of the road where the other Chaos marine had met his end, Makhos paused for a moment to admire Kayla’s handiwork.

‘Huh,’ he said. ‘I did a similar thing. Lost my sword.’

Kayla waved a hand at hers, still impaling the Chaos marine. ‘Stuck,’ she said.

Makhos looked at her for a moment, then said, ‘Here.’

He placed her hand on the hilt and together they pulled the blade from out of the rock. The marine’s body slumped and Kayla held the sword horizontal, letting the rain wash off the gore. They walked on.

The ship in question turned out to be the _Katakor_ , the same ship the traitor squad had stolen out of orbit. It seemed a very long time ago to Kayla since she’d stood and watched Jahad and his men vanish up the transporter to this very ship. The bodies of the murdered Imperial guards had been cleared out, at least, though the interior still stunk of death and rot.

A lot larger than the dropship _Auron_ that had brought them to the planet, the _Katakor_ had been designed to carry Imperial troops and equipment, and its large hold was piled with the supplies the Chaos marines had been carting from the base. Kayla and Makhos trod in wary silence through the ship, wary that any of their enemies could still be lurking about. It seemed to take longer to case the empty ship than it had done to kill all the marines, and Kayla kept her eyes wide open, trying to stave off collapse.

Eventually, she slumped into a chair in the cabin. Her vision swam and she blinked hard. She flexed her right arm experimentally. The bones seemed to have healed well enough, but the toll would be paid elsewhere. There was a ratcheting pain in her skull. She knew her eyes would be heavily bloodshot and her skin greasy. She felt she could sleep for a week.

‘Can you fly something this big?’ asked Makhos, his voice sounding far away.

‘Yeah,’ she said. She slapped her face a couple of times. ‘It’s all the same, just more lights flashing at you. Easier, sometimes, because more things are automated.’

Makhos looked at her and took another chair alongside.

‘You get some sleep,’ he said. He pulled at a lever in front of him, causing something under their feet to start thrumming with potential energy. ‘I know enough to get us into orbit at least.’

Kayla wanted to protest, but the words wouldn’t come. She closed her eyes and leaned back. There was the click of Makhos flicking switches and the thrum underneath became stronger. As she drifted into sleep, Kayla heard Makhos once again reciting his list of names. Two names were now missing.


End file.
